


The Glitter On And Under Skin

by FunkyinFishnet



Series: The New Normal [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Body Image, Character Study, Crossdressing, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Male Slash, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan's confident in his work, and loves giving as good as he gets when it comes to Aramis and Porthos' teasing and pranks. But when he loses a bet with them, he's forced to don female clothing for their company's New Year's Eve party, bringing his private body issues to the forefront. He's got Constance and her husband in his corner though, and Athos' heated gaze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glitter On And Under Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: for crossdressing and some body issue self-loathing.

 

 

D’Artagnan groaned as he took a seat in Constance’s office. Constance paid little attention to him, she was always busy, being the company’s lawyer, but d’Artagnan was one of the few people that she actually allowed into her office on non-work business.

 

She finished typing, finally giving him something approaching her full attention. “What did you do this time?”

 

D’Artagnan began to protest, but Constance’s eyebrow rose and d’Artagnan’s words subsequently melted into a sigh. Yes, he was often part of some fairly ridiculous (and therefore usually fun) situations, though he maintained that that wasn’t always his fault.

 

“There was a bet.”

 

“You didn’t…?” At d’Artagnan’s nod, Constance gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, if you will play cards with Porthos, then you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

 

Okay, yes, true, because according to too many people Porthos was a notorious card cheat. D’Artagnan hadn’t caught him cheating yet though, even if Porthos did win a suspicious amount of times. Porthos claimed that he couldn’t be cheating if there was no proof of it and d’Artagnan was determined to beat him at least once, so determined that he had recently agreed, too rashly it turned out, to one of Aramis and Porthos’ high-stakes card games.

 

This was definitely their fault. Fuck.

 

D’Artagnan dropped his head into his hands, his heart beating incredibly fast. Constance sipped her coffee unaffected and tapped her fingernails impatiently against her mug until he noticed.

 

“Well?”

 

Oh, right, he hadn’t actually revealed what the bet was and why he was in such despair. Best to get this over before Constance asked Aramis and Porthos for the juicy details. He screwed his eyes shut as he spoke, fear and something darker rushing through him.

 

“I might have agreed to wear drag to the New Year’s Eve party if I lost that last hand of cards.”

 

He waited for the laughter, his stomach dropping, but Constance was only looking at him as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. “If that’s the worst they’ve squeezed out of you, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

 

D’Artagnan’s mouth dropped open, but Constance was perfectly serious and of course she didn't know about the depth of sick fear that was currently gnawing away at his chest. He scrabbled for words “It’s…I…It’ll be awful, I’ll be completely humiliated!”

 

Constance made a disbelieving noise. “As if you’d be the first man here to wear a dress to a company party.”

 

D’Artagnan had heard some stories; he’d that assumed they were just scurrilous rumours, like the ones about Aramis and the boss’s wife.

 

Constance was still speaking. “Jacques and I can find you something that won’t make you look like you’ve stumbled in from a stag party and who knows, maybe this'll shake Athos up so much that you'll actually believe what's been right in front of your eyes for months now.”

 

D'Artagan made a pained noise. Ever since he'd drunkenly confessed to an over-abundance of feelings for his team leader, Constance had been insisting that Athos felt exactly the same way about him. She never missed an opportunity to remind d'Artagnan of her theories - “they're not theories, d'Artagnan, I know how Athos interacts with people, and the way he looks at you, it's a completely different story. The kind they keep on high shelves in shops.”

 

“Please, Constance...”

 

He was hiding his face again when suddenly Constance wouldn't let him. She grasped his knee and shook him hard while also kicking her office door shut in one smooth movement. She looked at him intently as she locked the desk drawer that held the biscuits that she let him pilfer whenever he was having an especially bad day. She was serious. D'Artagnan paid attention.

 

“They're pushing you, again. And they've done much worse to each other.”

 

The team he worked with the most – Athos, Aramis, and Porthos – took his training seriously, but they also liked to tease him, including him in the banter that always flowed freely between them, and in Aramis and Porthos' case, the practical joking. They were pushing him, probably to see if he’d break, to see if he could really handle how they chose to work in one of the biggest companies in the country, day in, day out. They just didn't know about d'Artagnan's particularly quaking fear that they were also pushing. Athos didn't get involved with the pranking; his favourite non-work activity seemed to be determinedly pickling his liver in the local pub. D'Artagnan worried about him, he wanted to help but even knowing the vaguest details of what drove Athos to drink didn't make helping him any easier.

 

He pushed d’Artagnan too, every day, because d’Artagnan always wanted to do his best for Athos, to make things easier for him, to make him smile, to impress him. That was a bigger push that anything Porthos and Aramis did, and yet…

 

Constance's expression softened and then suddenly took on a wicked sharpness. It jarred d'Artagnan right out of his melancholy thoughts.

 

“Jacques and I can get something made up for you, something really nice, I'll get you walking in heels and comfortable in the clothes. They won't know what's hit them.”

 

D'Artagnan gaped at her, his head swimming with the images she'd conjured up. She was definitely serious too. Oh God.

 

“I...”

 

Constance raised an eyebrow. “You could just turn up in a suit and blouse.”

 

That was...true. Huh. They hadn't specified what he had to wear; just that it had to be women's clothing. He could wear jeans and a t-shirt, as long as he bought them from Miss Selfridge. The thought of being that covered up was a real relief. But then he remembered the challenge in Porthos and Aramis' expressions, if he turned up in that kind of thing, they'd never let him live it down. He remembered the bet that Aramis had most recently lost – he'd had to work shirtless for five days in a row. And he'd done so, chatting to clients on the phone, wearing neatly-pressed suit trousers, shined shoes, and little else. Treville, their supervisor, had barely reacted, only telling Aramis that he'd have to be very quickly fully-clothed if the boss turned up. Porthos hadn't had a problem with that stipulation and Aramis had brought a shirt along with him anyway, just in case. Athos had smiled slightly at his friends' antics. D'Artagnan remembered that smile fondly. Though, God, if d’Artagnan himself had been the one who’d lost that particular bet…

 

He quickly focused again on Constance, his chest aching, his head full of inevitable gallows. “No, I couldn't.”

 

Constance's smile broadened, like he'd just said the magic words. “Good.”

 

D'Artagnan's head dropped again. But this time, Constance unlocked the drawer and let him have a biscuit, her other hand already busy with her iPhone. He was probably going to need a lot more biscuits, and several bottles of Athos' wine, by the end of this.

 

Constance patted his hand. “Just think of Athos' smile.”

 

D'Artagnan gave her a sharp suspicious look, hit by a very unpleasant thought. “Did they get you too?”

 

Constance's eyes narrowed and d’Artagnan remembered with a wince why Constance's husband Jacques now refused to set foot in Paris Ltd's building. Personally, d’Artagnan loved teasing and pranking his friends, but when it was his best friend’s husband who was also his landlord who suffered…yeah, he never wanted to end up on Constance’s bad side.

 

There was no way Constance would ever agree to be part of any of Porthos or Aramis’ bets.

 

D’Artagnan waved a hand hastily in apology, sending biscuit crumbs everywhere, and Constance’s expression told him that he was forgiven for now and momentarily unlikely to die by her hands.

 

Still, he watched her with trepidation as she silently worked on streamlining his humiliation, right up until Athos knocked on Constance’s door, leaning in to ask if d’Artagnan planned on actually earning his afternoon pay.

 

D’Artagnan scrambled to his feet, offering to get Athos a coffee, because, he silently noted, Athos looked as though he was a phonecall away from heading to the nearest wine bar. Athos nodded his thanks and d’Artagnan’s heart shuddered at how impossibly good Athos looked in a suit – charcoal with a grey shirt and gunmetal tie today – and at how intense his gaze was. D’Artagnan really liked Athos’ eyes.

 

He was very aware of Constance’s gaze, no doubt pinned to his back as he eagerly followed Athos. He flicked two fingers at her behind his back, gaining himself her distinctive laughter. It was enough to make him smile too and when Athos turned to talk about the latest batch of company's figures and caught sight of d'Artagnan's smiling expression, his lips twitched upwards as though in response.

 

D'Artagnan was happy for the rest of the day after that, even though Constance kept texting him about his behaviour. How the fuck did she always know what he was doing? He gave the pen holder on his desk a suspicious look.

 

*

 

“So…” Jacques entered the room carrying several bundles of material and his sewing box. “You need sartorial help.”

 

D'Artagnan grimaced, though noted that none of the materials were floral or pink as Jacques laid everything out on the kitchen table. Whatever Jacques had in mind, he wasn't looking to obviously add to d'Artagnan's horrifying humiliation. Still, the way that Jacques' eyes were gleaming was extremely alarming.

 

“I'm sure I can...”

 

Jacques gave him a hard look. “Find something acceptable in Topshop? You'll look ridiculous, which is exactly what _they're_ hoping for.”

 

Right, so this was about some sort of comeuppance for Aramis and Porthos. Jacques really was still just as angry as he'd been two months ago. D'Artagnan did not want to be in the middle of a war with his landlady and her husband on one side and his best friends and colleagues on the other. God, this was getting really out of hand, worse than the incident with Aramis’ poetry and the company-wide email.

 

Constance put a mug of tea down near his elbow and began sorting through the materials Jacques had chosen. Her movements slowed when she caught sight of the look on d’Artagnan’s face.

 

“What’s the problem here?”

 

She didn’t sound impatient or annoyed, just concerned and as though she could see that this wasn’t just d’Artagnan dragging his feet, he was _really_ bothered. D’Artagnan sighed and sipped his tea, it was as sweet as he liked it, despite Constance regularly telling him that having that much sugar in his tea would eventually rot his teeth. He tried to think of a covering excuse for his mood.

 

“Isn’t this all getting a bit…serious?”

 

Constance gave him a disbelieving look. “Says the man panting after Athos.”

 

“I am not _panting!_ ”

 

Both Constance and Jacques looked disbelieving now. D’Artagnan dropped his head to the table with a groan. Fuck. If _Jacques_ had noticed…God, he hadn’t made Athos uncomfortable, had he? Fear gripped his heart. Constance patted his arm.

 

“If he didn’t want you around, he’d have had you transferred out of his team by now. But as he’s doing as much panting as you are…”

 

“He isn’t,” d’Artagnan paused, his mouth at the lip of his mug. “Is he?”

 

“His eyebrows don’t flick up like that for just anyone, you know.”

 

Constance left him to chew on that as she and Jacques began murmuring about what fabric and cut would be best for this particular occasion. Floor-length was out of the question of course, maybe something in leather?

 

Veering out of his thoughts sharply, d’Artagnan looked at them a little dazedly, he’d assumed that he’d be grabbing something embarrassing but non-revealing from New Look and hoping that Treville wouldn’t fire him for bad representation of the company, even if it was just at the annual New Year piss-up. He could never tell if just one prank more was going to push Treville over the edge, but so far he’d dealt with everything remarkably well. Maybe it was because Athos’ team, despite their unconventional leanings, were regularly among the top performers in the company and few clients complained about them or their work. Maybe it was because Aramis had told the truth when he’d claimed that back when Treville had worked at their level, he’d been known to play a few pranks himself.

 

Constance nudged him. “We’re going to make you look amazing, that’ll wipe the smirks off their faces. It’ll do something else to Athos.”

 

D’Artagnan nudged her sharply back, but he did smile a little bit into his tea. Constance was doing what she did best, taking charge and getting everything scarily organised. He was reliably informed that she was hell to face in court, she always took great pleasure in dealing with people who thought that they could make quick money by suing Paris Ltd.

 

He finished his tea and stared into the mug. Why was he so bothered by this bet? He’d dealt with worse before – memories of a particular canteen bet still made him feel slightly queasy – but this, there was something so public about it. Okay, if he was being completely and sickeningly honest here, what really bothered him was the fact that his body was going to be so utterly on display. D’Artagnan felt more than a little bit…wanting in that area, especially since his co-workers had such impressive physiques. And they were all going to look at him, _Athos_ was going to look at him, and d’Artagnan was almost positive that Athos was not going to be all that impressed.

 

He liked working for Paris Ltd, it was a huge technology corporation and he spent his working days often doing extremely taxing tasks – wrangling deals and checking in with designers and basically being a dogsbody until the day that Athos and Treville decided he’d done enough to get a permanent position and a minor bump in pay.

 

It was exhausting, but d’Artagnan didn’t think he’d ever been so happy.

 

He loved the team he worked with, and yes, he really liked his team leader. Athos was brooding and taciturn but his work ethic was insane and he was ridiculously good at what he did. D’Artagnan aspired to reach such impressive heights, he might dream of a little more too.

 

Oh God, he really didn’t want to be humiliated in front of Athos, he didn’t want to see the look in his eyes when…

 

Constance hauled him to his feet and Jacques began taking measurements. D'Artagnan must have looked pretty wrecked because her smile faltered and she moved closer, her touch reassuring and grounding. His heartbeat almost calmed down. Jacques stayed quiet, noting things down as he worked efficiently with his tape-measure.

 

“I promise you, you will like the way you look,” Constance told him quietly.

 

D’Artagnan looked at her for a moment, for all their closeness, he’d never told Constance how inadequate he sometimes secretly felt, especially when next to his friends. It wasn’t something he was proud of, nor did he think he'd ever been obvious about it. But she was Constance, who seemed to know everything. Maybe she’d noticed how he sometimes avoided mirrors and she wasn’t forcing him to talk about it.

 

Jacques was a good designer, hadn’t he made that amazing deep pink dress that Constance had worn recently? Jacques' stuff was always tasteful and at least it would be made for d’Artagnan’s shape, at least the colours wouldn’t be garish or make him look even worse…right?

 

D’Artagnan sighed and nodded, choosing the best option in a bad situation. Constance pressed a hand to his shoulder and then continued to assist her husband. D’Artagnan closed his eyes.

 

*

 

Athos looked particularly hung over a few days later. D’Artagnan slowed as he approached Athos’ desk, he really did look pasty and pained. It hadn’t been one of those difficult anniversaries, had it? Like Athos’ divorce? Or the date of his brother’s death? No, d’Artagnan was sure that he hadn’t forgotten those. So why had Athos drank so much?

 

D’Artagnan hurried off before Athos could spot him and took a detour into the kitchen. He kept one of his mother’s hangover cures in his workbag at all times, just in case he overslept after a heavy night and didn’t have time to drink it at home.

 

He mixed it up quickly, making some toast while it was steeping, before taking everything over to Athos. Athos looked at him through slitted eyes. He was still dressed smartly – dark brown suit with a creamy-white shirt and cinnamon-coloured cufflinks – d’Artagnan’s heart still did a little skip at the sight of him. He swallowed and put his offering down as gently as he could. He didn’t want to make Athos feel worse.

 

“My mum’s hangover cure, it never fails.”

 

Athos looked at the mug and then at d’Artagnan for a long quiet moment, but he nodded slowly and reached for the drink. D’Artagnan watched and then realised that he should probably give Athos his space. It was going to be one of those days and d’Artagnan really wanted to help his friend as much as possible.

 

“I’ll just…”

 

He rushed over to his own desk and started looking through his emails, trying not to stare at Athos at the same time. It was very difficult.

 

Just as d’Artagnan was answering a very complex email from one of their overseas branches, someone thumped him on the shoulder. He didn’t jump; he was used to Porthos by now.

 

“Morning, bright boy,” Porthos grinned at him, wearing the look of a man who had almost certainly won several hands of cards recently. “How are the crises this morning?”

 

“Complicated.”

 

Porthos’ laughter was booming, causing to Athos to hunch over his desk even more. D’Artagnan winced in sympathy, just as Aramis arrived wearing one of his expensive-looking coats. He was always the best dressed of them all, somehow managing never to look as ridiculous as he ought to. He was often requested for company presentations, he clearly didn’t have d’Artagnan’s stupid hang-ups.

 

“Ah, breakfast,” Aramis snatched a piece of toast off of Athos’ plate. “If you’re making drinks, d’Artagnan, you should make ours as well.”

 

D’Artagnan looked at them, borrowing an expression from Constance. “No, I shouldn’t.”

 

Porthos laughed again, not offended in the least as he headed towards his desk. D’Artagnan watched the rest of his team with a small contented smile. He’d learnt pretty quickly that they weren’t interested in working with someone who followed their orders blindly and subserviently, which was a good thing because d’Artagnan had always questioned what he encountered in life and gave as good as he got. But he knew instinctively when someone was worth listening to as well and his team definitely fitted the bill.

 

Even if their pranks occasionally left a lot to be desired.

 

He flinched, thinking of his own bony frame and sallow skin, how embarrassingly laughable he was going to look when they’d all be dressed up and gorgeous.

 

He sighed unhappily and glanced up in time to notice that Athos was staring at him, his face pinched in a concerned frown. D’Artagnan hastily pasted on a smile and lowered his gaze back down to his work. He didn’t want Athos thinking he wasn’t up for the job. He was, God, he loved this job and the people he got to work with, he just…some things, some issues, he liked to shove away and not deal with, ever. Unfortunately he really didn’t have that choice now.

 

He couldn’t let Athos and the others down by not fulfilling the agreed-upon forfeit, they might think less of him then, they might look at him differently or maybe give him less responsibility if he couldn’t cope, let alone thrive, in this kind of atmosphere. They might think that he was a coward. But d’Artagnan swallowed hard when he thought about what fulfilling the forfeit meant, being that exposed, everybody staring and sniggering. Aramis and Porthos, and Athos…

 

He felt Athos looking at him throughout the day but d’Artagnan steadfastly refused to meet his gaze until Athos approached his desk as evening began tinting the sky.

 

“Your mother’s cure worked, thank you.”

 

D’Artagnan bobbed a nod; it didn’t hurt as much it used to think of his mum now. It was more like an old ache, always there but not drawing blood anymore. Athos’ gaze felt almost like a caress as it swept over him, d’Artagnan bit back an instinctive whimper.

 

“Good work on the Simpson account today.”

 

“Thanks…thank you.”

 

He felt a little breathless and was probably gazing more than slightly adoringly. Athos looked at him for a moment more, then walked away rapidly, retrieving his coat and probably heading for the nearest pub. D’Artagnan watched him for a moment, then quickly shut his computer down, and hurried after him. Aramis and Porthos were still tangled up in the very loud meeting taking place next door and somebody had to keep an eye on Athos.

 

He spent the rest of the evening sat beside Athos, squashed beside a tiny table, watching in slight awe as Athos drank his way through an impressive amount of wine. Athos’ knee was pressed against his and he could feel the puff of Athos’ breath. Athos looked at him a lot, like he was searching for something. D’Artagnan wondered, ached, to know what. He hoped Athos found what he was looking for.

 

God, he hoped.

 

*

 

A few days later, Constance whisked him into the living room and ordered him to strip off and put on the dress laid out for him. All the curtains were drawn and Constance even left the room, but she was definitely just outside the door so he couldn’t bolt.

 

D’Artagnan stared at the puddle of silky blue fabric with a lot of trepidation. Constance knew what she was doing, so did Jacques, and it was less than a month until the New Year’s Eve party. He had to get used to this now, didn’t he? Dread sweated through him. He wasn’t going to let anybody down and he wasn’t going to be a coward, he _wasn’t._

 

Still he slowly sloughed off his clothes, leaving his boxers on for now, and began trying to work out exactly how to get into the dress. Constance re-entered the room with an air of impatience which quickly became affectionate amusement. She didn’t bat an eye at his figure, though d’Artagnan tried to cover his chest – he was too shrimpy, too patchy. He could throw a powerful punch and had been able to hold his own in a fight for a few years now, but still, he wasn’t as built as Porthos, or as elegant and sharp as Aramis, or as steely and _impressive_ as Athos.

 

He could wear a suit like armour and believe he was the business, and make everybody else believe it too. But underneath…

 

Constance held out the dress. “This way up.”

 

She wasn’t going to leave him to struggle, D'Artagnan sent her a grateful look and noted how her eyes stayed fixed on his face. She didn't tease him once; he felt a flood of gratitude towards her. There were many reasons why Constance was his best friend, this silent understanding was definitely one of them.

 

The silk was like a soft whisper against his skin. The dress reached his knees and there was something bare at the back too. Constance slid the zip up and stood back to take a look. Her expression was pleased and fond and her eyes were shining when she looked up at d’Artagnan’s face again. Constance never lied to him and she really did seem to like what she saw. D’Artagnan automatically crossed his arms, hunching defensively, unable to turn off his fear and revulsion.

 

“My husband is amazing,” Constance pronounced. “And you look _wonderful_.”

 

Before d’Artagnan could properly protest, she held out a small hand mirror. D’Artagnan stared at it for a second but managed to hold it with a slight tremor. Constance gently cupped his hands and raised the mirror.

 

“You need to see this before they do.”

 

That was unfortunately true. He needed to know what everyone else would be subjected to, getting the lay of the land was always essential. He took a deep breath though before he looked into the mirror. He blinked, the dress had generous but delicate straps and the neckline didn’t pretend that he wasn’t a man; there were several soft folds of fabric which accented his wiry frame and bone structure. It wasn’t…awful.

 

Constance squeezed his arm gently and didn’t say a word. She let d’Artagnan drink the sight in; he wondered what the rest of him looked like. He chanced a glance downwards, tugged into looking by astonished curiosity. The dress nipped in at the waist and the skirt was straight and fitted but gave him room to move. It was comfortable and soft; d’Artagnan liked the feel of the fabric under his hands.

 

He felt as though he was looking at a completely different person, at a body he genuinely _liked_.

 

He stayed caught in that spellbound hazy moment until Constance gently took the mirror from him and handed him a pair of high-heels.

 

Right. There was work to do.

 

*

 

The dress was a taster of what Jacques had in mind. Apparently he wanted d’Artagnan to get used to the shape and feel of that kind of thing. He had looked d’Artagnan up and down when he’d come home to find d’Artagnan managing an almost natural walk across the living room floor while wearing high heels, Constance standing at one end, instructing him on weight distribution.

 

Jacques had smiled and d’Artagnan had felt a warm glow deep in his chest.

 

He was getting used to the heels, he wore them around the house and got blisters, his feet soon smothered in plasters. But he was glad that he was doing this now, he didn’t want to hobble around at the New Year’s Eve party.

 

Constance poured him a large glass of white wine and smiled, her face flushed with success. “You look like you know what you’re doing, that’s half the battle.”

 

D’Artagnan wet his lips on the rim of the glass. Constance still hadn’t commented on how he'd hesitated with the mirror. Her hand touched his bony wrist.

 

“You’re going to play them at their own game. They want to see how you’ll react, you’re going to _own_ this.”

 

She sounded so sure, like if she said it a certain way, it’d sink into his bones and beyond. D’Artagnan wanted to believe her, he wanted to imagine Porthos and Aramis looking stunned, he wanted to imagine that he could saunter past them with a smirk, maybe dance with them and laugh. Another step closer to gaining a permanent foothold in Paris Ltd. And Athos, how would he look? Would he stare? Say even less than usual? Would he be appalled by what he saw?

 

Constance stroked his hand and then tugged him close so that he could rest his head against her shoulder. Yes, he would always have her support and Jacques. They had done him a strange unexpected kindness by taking charge of his New Year’s Eve clothing. Part of him wanted Athos’ gaze, wanted the heat and shiver of it, that look that Athos sometimes got of intense hunger but just as often d’Artagnan was sure he’d imagined that look, or that at least that he’d imagine that it was being directed towards him.

 

He didn’t want to take the chance that Athos would look at him differently. But he wasn’t a coward.

 

The blue dress stayed hung up in his room, a spectre of what was to come.

 

*

 

“You seem distracted lately,” Athos noted one morning.

 

D’Artagnan jerked and smiled, his heart pounding fast. He’d been thinking about the designs Jacques had let him see the previous night; he’d been talking about leather in a way that had actually _excited_ d’Artagnan in a way that he really hadn’t expected. What was happening to him? He still hadn’t looked in a full-length mirror properly, but he had begun wearing the blue dress around the house, just to get used to it and to enjoy feeling so much affection for his own body. It was unbelievable really.

 

He cleared his throat. “Been busy.”

 

“With the delectable Madame Bonacieux?” leered Aramis. “Details, now.”

 

D’Artagnan let his expression became smug, a smirk that he’d definitely stolen from Aramis himself. “Maybe you’ll find out soon, if you’re lucky.”

 

Aramis’ eyebrows shot up. “Your claws are getting sharper. I approve.”

 

“Just don’t offer to be his scratching post,” Porthos cut in, a more than friendly hand at Aramis’ back and a brief look at d’Artagnan that said everything.

 

“Ha! Clearly you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

 

D’Artagnan smiled, sinking into their familiar banter and glanced quickly at Athos, who was still looking at him intently. D’Artagnan’s heart fluttered, Athos was _concerned_ about him? That was…amazing.

 

D’Artagnan held Athos’ gaze, hoping he wasn’t misreading the situation. But Athos’s lips lifted and his gaze lingered before he concentrated again on his work. D’Artagnan’s mouth felt dry but he couldn’t stop smiling all day, not even when Porthos threw a elaborate paper aeroplane at him which turned out to be the latest summary of the design department’s ideas for d'Artagnan to go through.

 

D'Artagnan edited and printed it, leaving it on Porthos’ desk, folded into a distinctly duck-like shape. He was almost sure that he saw the flash of Athos’ teeth when he smiled.

 

*

 

Constance was not going to take a refusal. “We’re going out.”

 

“I’m tired, can we do this some other time?”

 

“No, we haven’t had a night out in weeks. Think of it as preparation and research. Come on.”

 

She wouldn’t let him out in anything other than the blue dress, but oddly, d’Artagnan didn’t feel panicked by that. He liked how he felt, how he _looked_ , when he wore the dress, he liked Constance and Jacques' expressions when he wore it, he was _excited_. It was an alien feeling when it was connected to his own bare body, but it was _good_. D’Artagnan clung to it.

 

The lights in the club were going to be dim, Constance told him, and nobody would know him there. He’d be lost in the crowd and he wouldn't be the only man there wearing a dress, she promised. He’d have a chance to try out his look in public. All building blocks for New Year’s.

 

Constance persuaded him to wear a little mascara. She offered a mirror but didn't force the issue when he shook his head.

 

Constance wore a suit that fitted her like a glove; it must have been designed by her husband. It was pearl grey and her crisp white shirt was buttoned to the neck with a silky grey tie perfectly knotted there. Her hair was partly piled up, a grey trilby tugged firmly over her forehead. She looked incredible and offered d’Artagnan her arm.

 

They ended up at a club called St Patrick’s, the name picked out in green stained-glass. The bouncer on the door recognised Constance and waved them in with a grin. He gave d’Artagnan an appreciative look.

 

Inside, there were plenty of men wearing skirts, make-up, and amazing stiletto boots. Constance obligingly kissed the cheek of a tall broad-shouldered man in a blonde wig and a pale gold dress. His face was made-up expertly and doused with fine gold glitter. He was beautiful, in a way that d’Artagnan hadn't really contemplated until recently. He glanced down at his own body thoughtfully.

 

The man looked at d’Artagnan. “We’ve got ourselves a baby. Honey, your Jacques does good work.”

 

Constance preened a little and d’Artagnan only nudged her a bit. “He says your dress will be ready by the end of the week.”

 

D’Artagnan actually hung back and took everything in, a vast departure from his highly-successful ‘jump-in-at-the-deep-end’ attitude to pretty much everything else. He felt like he was looking at a whole new world or maybe he was just seeing things through different eyes.

 

Constance bought him a beer and clinked her glass against his. He grinned at her. “So you come here often then?”

 

She grinned back. “I’d be here even if Jacques didn’t have a thriving drag clientèle.”

 

Huh. That made sense actually. Jacques was multitalented as a designer. D’Artagnan didn’t know much about fashion, but he could tell that Jacques’ stuff was well-made and fitted like a dream. Why not take your wares into every corner possible? He made suits and dresses, for men and women. He clearly liked a broad range and challenging himself, that d’Artagnan could absolutely appreciate.

 

There were people of all shapes and sizes, wearing all styles of clothing. D’Artagnan watched as people greeted Constance and was surprised and pleased when he was approached and offered drinks or invitations to dance. He grinned at all the offers, but refused them. He was no blushing virgin but his mind was currently too preoccupied with his own self-discovery and with Athos.

 

Constance did convince him onto the dancefloor later though, his hands on her hips as she ground and swayed with confidence and utter comfort. D’Artagnan relaxed, the positive attitude of everyone there obliterating any darkness for now. He leaned into Constance, trusting and grateful. She had to give out a few refusals herself, laughing and displaying her wedding ring whenever anybody tried to persuade her otherwise. That was her final word; Jacques was a very lucky man.

 

By the end of the night, d’Artagnan was sweaty, tipsy, and exhilarated. Constance somehow still had her hat on and flagged down a taxi easily enough. She held d’Artagnan’s hand as they were shared the backseat. Her eyes seemed larger and darker than usual and her hair looked on fire. It was good look on her.

 

As perceptive as always, even when halfway drunk, she zeroed in on his swimming thoughts. “He still has face-to-face meetings with his psychotic ex-wife, he’s not going to be scared off by _this._ ”

 

Her free hand fiddled with the edge of his dress. D'Artagnan smiled and didn't disagree, too happy from his evening to argue. He'd like to dance with Athos. He was sure that Athos would be a good dancer, he moved with so much surety.

 

D'Artagnan couldn't keep the smile off his face, thinking about Athos. Constance pressed a fingertip to his cheek and laughed.

 

When they loudly entered the house, Jacques only raised his eyebrows. He made them cups of tea, kissing Constance thoroughly and then d'Artagnan on the cheek without any hesitation. D'Artagnan grinned.

 

“I love the dress, Jacques.”

 

Constance's husband wore a warm smile, his gaze lingering on his wife as she shrugged off her jacket and unpinned her hair.

 

“Good, it loves you too.”

 

*

 

The next day at work, d'Artagnan frequently caught sight of his own small secret smile in the reflection of his computer monitor. He knew it was unnerving Porthos and Aramis, which was a great bonus, especially when Treville complimented him on a recent transaction with the Asian office.

 

When d'Artagnan went to do some photocopying, he found Athos already in the copier room, posture stiff, arms crossed as he stared down at the machine. d'Artagnan enjoyed the view for a long moment – Athos was clad in black suit trousers and a green pinstripe shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Then Athos lifted his gaze to stare back. Was he enjoying the view too?

 

Athos was definitely looking closely at d'Artagnan, had he noticed a change? A good change? D'Artagnan stood up a little straighter, as completely comfortable as he always was in a suit, his armour, but maybe his recent experience showed, in a good way. Constance had said that it did when they'd met up for lunch only a couple of hours ago.

 

Athos leaned closer and d'Artagnan's breathing quickened. Athos reached out, giving d'Artagnan the chance to move, but d'Artagnan stayed rooted to the spot as Athos brushed gentle fingers against d'Artagnan's temple and cheek.

 

“You had something just there.”

 

He pulled back to reveal green and gold glitter stuck to the pads of his fingers. He looked amused and definitely...intrigued. Intrigued was good, intrigued made heat curl through d'Artagnan. It reminded him of how he'd felt when he'd first caught a glimpse of himself in that blue dress.

 

Oh.

 

He looked a little closer, at how wide Athos' pupils were, at how his breathing was slightly heavy, at how he stayed in d'Artagnan's personal space for a moment longer than usual. He spoke Athos almost fluently now, had Athos always reacted like this to him? If he had, how had d'Artagnan missed it?

 

He could just imagine Constance's raised eyebrow and hear her saying “Because sometimes you're stupendously wilfully blind, and also an idiot.”

 

D'Artagnan deliberately licked his lips. Athos watched the movement keenly. Was he aware of how he was reacting? D'Artagnan smiled slowly, letting Athos see the heat and arousal before speaking.

 

“Maybe you'll find why, soon.”

 

He made it sound like a promise and his heartbeat then increased very suddenly because Athos was smiling a little in return and his eyes were alive with exactly the same heat. It did very wobbly things to d'Artagnan's legs. He quickly got his copying done in the heated silence before heading back to his workspace with a final look at Athos, as though to check that this hadn't been a hallucination.

 

Somehow, Constance's omnipotence didn't extend to the copying room because she didn't immediately text him. He texted her instead.

 

_I might believe you._

 

Constance's only reply was a smiley face. Then she walked up to his desk at the end of the day, as the others were getting ready to leave, and hugged him without a word. She laughed quietly in his ear, d'Artagnan smiled and squeezed her tight.

 

Porthos eyed them. “What are you two planning?”

 

Constance and d'Artagnan separated, Constance smirking a little. “I'm afraid that's privileged information.”

 

Porthos narrowed his eyes, but he was smiling. He did love a challenge, it was why he was so good at his job and why he challenged other people in turn. D'Artagnan knew that his own smile was a little giddy.

 

He could feel the others' curious gazes as he and Constance walked away. D'Artagnan's smile broadened, Constance's responding laugh was pure joy. She nudged d'Artagnan in the ribs. “I've created a monster.”

 

“Then as my creator, you should definitely provide the wine tonight.”

 

*

 

Splitting a bottle or two of wine between them, Constance talked him through make-up. She showed him what suited his skin tone and colouring and what might work with the dress that Jacques was designing for the New Year's Eve party.

 

“He'll be coming with us, he wants to see his creation in action.”

 

“Oh, in action with your creation?” D'Artagnan did a quick double-take. “Wait, _Jacques_ is coming? He's voluntarily going to spend time with Porthos and Aramis? Is he ill? Or did you bribe him?”

 

Constance looked smug. “This is all your doing. He's very eager to see how the others react, he's planning on taking photos.”

 

D'Artagnan chuckled and consented to carefully look into a tiny handheld mirror, to examine his own face. Constance had pointed out that he didn't have to wear any make-up at all, but if he did, it should look natural and should enhance his face, rather than be caked on comically. He agreed with that.

 

He quite liked how the angles of his face had sharpened. He liked the idea of making his colleagues do a double-take when they saw him, he liked the idea of being so unexpected. He ran a hand over his thin shirt, feeling his ribs and muscles, feeling something different there now too.

 

He'd always felt at his most comfortable, at his strongest, the most _himself_ at work, wearing a suit alongside his good friends, doing a job he knew he was good at and that he was becoming better at too, thanks to his colleagues. But he was finding that he felt just as strong and just as himself in the clothes that Jacques made for him. It was so unexpected, because he'd never liked his body's bare design or how it looked outside of a suit. Usually his skin itched and he never felt comfortable, or right.

 

Now though, it turned out that he didn't just need a suit, a dress could be his armour too.

 

Jacques showed him what he'd made for New Year's Eve. Constance's eyes lit up, d'Artagnan touched it carefully. It was soft sleeveless black leather, it would just brush his knees, it would hug and flatter his contours. It really was armour. Jacques had taken conversations and details and had stitched them into this amazing simple creation. D'Artagnan's eyes were wondering and fascinated.

 

Constance kissed her husband, saying what d'Artagnan couldn't.

 

He pressed the dress to his chest and drank more wine. He almost glanced in the bathroom mirror after his shower that night, almost.

 

*

 

Here it was, New Year's Eve. Athos had told him only that day that he would see d'Artagnan at the party, a comment which had immediately caught Porthos and Aramis' interest since, according to them, Athos usually only made a brief appearance at the party, talking to the right people and saying the right things before slipping out. Treville always let him. Only this year Athos was apparently actually looking forward to the party and it was also d'Artagnan's first Paris Ltd New Year's Eve. What a coincidence.

 

D'Artagnan had waggled his eyebrows. “Lucky me.”

 

“God, you're nauseating,” Aramis had sighed, but he had been smiling too.

 

“You're not going to turn up late though, are you?” Porthos had said suddenly, his smile a wide anticipating grin. “Hoping nobody'll see your outfit?”

 

D'Artagnan's smile had been secretive and infuriating, and he knew it. “Just hoping, that's all.”

 

Aramis' smile had almost been proud. “What _are_ your planning?”

 

D'Artagnan had made sure that his gaze caught Athos'. “Wait and see.”

 

He had savoured Athos' small genuine smile and how intent the man had looked. He had heard Porthos' comment “It's going to be an interesting night.”

 

Yes, it was.

 

Now, d'Artagnan was pulling on the leather dress. Jacques had made minute adjustments, it fitted snugly but he didn't feel constricted and everything had room to breathe. D'Artagnan pulled on matching black leather high heels, he'd practised in them around the house and out at St Patrick's too. He could probably run in them and not fall over.

 

Constance did his make-up, a darkening of his eyelids, eyeliner, mascara, and a dash of lipstick. D'Artagnan could feel himself truly settling into his own skin again. It still took his breath away, that feeling.

 

“Do you have any glitter?”

 

Constance smiled and produced a couple of sleek glitter gels. She daubed a layer at the edge of his eyes and clearly liked the effect. She knocked her hip against his and did a little spin on the spot, d'Artagnan whistling appreciatively. She looked incredible in her rich green dress. It suited her pale skin and red hair, of course it did, Jacques knew how to enhance every gorgeous aspect of his wife.

 

Constance carefully hugged d'Artagnan. “Ready to rock and roll?”

 

D'Artagnan laughed into her hair. He was both excited and nervous. He'd be walking in with Constance and Jacques, he would look and feel strangely good, he'd get to see the looks on Porthos and Aramis' faces. He'd get to see Athos' expression.

 

As always, Constance could read his thoughts, guessing why his heartrate suddenly increased. “If he doesn't like what he sees, then those heels don't just _look_ good.”

 

She mimed grinding her own heel into the carpet and d'Artagnan coughed out a laugh and squeezed Constance gently, a lot of dazed gratitude packed into the one gesture.

 

This was it.

 

He still hadn't looked in a mirror larger than a compact.

 

He slipped on a leather jacket, his phone, keys and wallet stuffed into the pockets, and ducked outside into a waiting taxi. Jacques sat between Constance and d'Artagnan, wearing a dark tailored suit, with a pocket square and tie that perfectly matched Constance's dress. They really were a matched pair.

 

The taxi ride wasn't a long one, the party was being held at an expensive and beautiful hotel situated deep in the city. D'Artagnan was very aware of his own heartbeat as he carefully got out of the taxi, Constance had given him some pretty essential tips on how to handle that manoeuvre in a skirt. Jacques offered an arm to both of them and d'Artagnan accepted with a cracked laugh. Jacques was really milking this, he was clearly expecting Porthos and Aramis to be floored.

 

“So happy to be part of your big night,” d'Artagnan murmured as they walked into the hotel and were directed towards one of the large event rooms.

 

Jacques slid a gaze his way. “I happen to like it when my work makes an impact and this is the sort of _impact_ one has to see in person.”

 

D'Artagnan poked Jacques with an elbow, gladly distracted as they entered the room. It was already half full, people crowding, laughing and drinking and a few dancing. A few looked at d'Artagnan with surprise or shock but most smiled and called out to him. D'Artagnan smiled hesitantly back.

 

Constance staked out a table and left her wrap there along with d'Artagnan's jacket and bought them all a glass of wine each. Jacques clinked his against theirs with a smile, his free arm wrapped around Constance's waist.

 

“To a successful evening.”

 

D'Artagnan swallowed and leant in closer. Constance spoke instructions conversationally.

 

“Don't look around for them, let them come to you. It's their turn to work hard.”

 

“There's a first time for everything,” Jacques added dryly.

 

So d'Artagnan managed to chat to whoever came over to talk, a lot of people wanted pictures with the group. Jacques always made sure that his arms were around both d'Artagnan and Constance and he gave out quite a few business cards, a lot of people were impressed with his work.

 

“It'll definitely be a good night for you,” d'Artagnan noted.

 

Jacques looked smug, Constance handed their empty glasses to a passing server and kissed her husband. Once the couple had parted, d'Artagnan impulsively leaned in to kiss Jacques on the cheek. Several camera phones flashed and there were more than a couple of catcalls.

 

“Someone's having fun.”

 

Porthos grinned from nearby, his gaze extremely appreciative and impressed. D'Artagnan smiled slowly, basking in the affectionate attention, so different to what he'd originally expected. He felt a surge of relief and even some confidence and raised his eyebrows.

 

“Just fulfilling my obligation”

 

“Oh, I don't think that's 'just' anything,” replied Porthos with a smirk.

 

He nodded at Constance and Jacques, his smirk widening at Jacques' frosty expression just as Aramis joined the group, as well-dressed as Porthos in a stylish tailored suit. His eyes widened when he took in d'Artagnan and realised who it was.

 

“Oh, that explains a _lot_.” At everyone's quizzical looks, he tossed a look over his shoulder. “Athos hasn't left yet.”

 

D'Artagnan exchanged a look with Constance. Aramis was concentrating on d'Artagnan again, looking him up and down, really taking in the view. D'Artagnan stayed rooted to the spot, but Aramis didn't laugh. He smiled warmly and leaned in to sweep d'Artagnan into a hug, his lips brushing the skin beside d'Artagnan's ear.

 

“You look amazing,” he murmured, before pulling back. _“Amazing.”_

 

Porthos snapped several photos and nodded. “You really went there and I know you had help.”

 

Constance snorted. “Because you never ask for help when you lose.”

 

Porthos grinned. “Never said that. Thinking outside the box is always good, it's more _interesting_.”

 

D'Artagnan felt warm from their compliments and the attention. Treville smiled when he passed by and nodded at d'Artagnan, it felt like approval. Wow. D'Artagnan found that he was mostly able to ignore the people who whispered and looked at him with disapproval or mocking. He'd seen people look that way towards Porthos, Aramis, and Athos before, when they were giving presentations or dealing with clients. Their style wasn't for everybody. This felt closer to d'Artagnan, but he could see that a lot of people liked what they saw and Aramis and Porthos had been impressed. Maybe this might even help him get permanent employment.

 

A hand firmly cupped his elbow. “May I have this dance?”

 

Athos was stood there – black suit, touchably-soft white shirt unbutton at the neck, no tie. His eyes were full of heat and hunger and they were trained on d'Artagnan. D'Artagnan wet his dry mouth. Constance reached across and shoved him slightly.

 

Athos steadied him and when d'Artagnan didn't pull away, intertwined their fingers and pulled him into the mass of people congregating across the dance floor. Drink was flowing freely and everyone was having a good time. Athos pulled d'Artagnan close, his hands secure at d'Artagnan's hips. D'Artagnan rested his hands on Athos' strong shoulders, he could feel the heat of Athos' skin through his shirt, he could see how closely Athos was watching him.

 

They didn't say anything, they just moved, keeping a simple rhythm, hidden from all cameras and stares because they were right in the middle of everybody and they weren't the only couple dancing. D'Artagnan had been right, Athos was a good dancer, he definitely knew what he was doing. D'Artagnan moved closer, relishing how Athos slid his hands to the small of d’Artagnan’s back, stroking and caressing. Clearly he appreciated leather as much as d'Artagnan did. He appreciated d'Artagnan.

 

When the song finished, Athos cocked his head, indicating the door. D'Artagnan didn't have to think twice.

 

He grabbed his jacket and quickly texted Constance. He spied her, still with Jacques, happy and smiling, a smile that only increased when she looked at her phone. She searched the crowds for him and waved her phone, her expression the only answer he needed. She wouldn't wait up.

 

Athos rested a hand low on d'Artagnan's back as he led the way out of the event room and into the hotel lift. Okay then. The silence was charged between them, and Athos kept glancing at d'Artagnan, drinking him in. On the fourth floor, he walked down the hallway, unlocked a door and entered the room, switching on the lights. D'Artagnan followed, he didn't get the chance to feel awkward or uncomfortable, because Athos drew close immediately, his eyes filled with heat. A similar feeling rolled through d'Artagnan. He reached, just as Athos reached for him.

 

They didn't need to talk. Not yet.

 

*

 

It was a flurry of movement at first, of hands and lips. Athos kissed him urgently, as though d'Artagnan was shortly going to disappear, and his hands roamed feverishly. D'Artagnan clung to him and kissed back just as fiercely, his fingers feverishly unbuttoning Athos' shirt.

 

When Athos found the dress' zip, d'Artagnan's movements stuttered and then stopped. He took a breath and found that he could focus, because while he now embraced and even enjoyed his body in a dress, there was still a lot going on inside of him. Athos didn't push, he waited, his hands still holding onto d'Artagnan.

 

D'Artagnan didn't want to speak, he didn't want to break what was happening, but he had to do something here. He hoped fervently that Athos wouldn't ask any questions. He cleared his throat and gestured to the light switch nearest the bed.

 

“Lights off, please.”

 

His voice didn't shake and Athos looked at him for a moment, assessing and divining. Athos had always been good at reading situations, usually to gain the upper hand at work. Maybe he'd learned that skill after the situation with his ex-wife.

 

Whatever the reason, Athos stepped towards the bed and turned off the lights without a word. D'Artagnan let out a breath and reached for Athos again. Now their movements were slower, though still just as loaded as before. Athos tugged d'Artagnan down onto the bed, d'Artagnan eagerly explored Athos' muscled physique as they both undressed between kisses and touches. Athos trailed lips across d'Artagnan's collarbone, he looked as though he was savouring the taste, like he was learning d'Artagnan by touch alone and from the noises he was making, he liked what he was discovering.

 

D’Aragnan shivered and pressed closer.

 

*

 

The next morning, d'Artagnan woke up to find Athos spooning behind him. Despite their sparse clean-up the previous night, he could feel the stickiness of lube on his thighs. He smiled, that wasn't all he could feel.

 

Athos chose that moment to graze his teeth across the back of d'Artagnan's neck; d'Artagnan hissed and arched, which caused Athos to groan deep in his chest.

 

“Did you get a room here just for this?” d'Artagnan managed to ask.

 

“I booked a room because I assumed that I'd be seeing in the new year with a bottle of wine for company.”

 

“Just the one?”

 

Athos' teeth grazed deeper and d'Artagnan moaned, half-laughing. “I can't believe I missed the New Year's countdown.”

 

He turned quickly, Athos' arms curling around him, his mouth soft, his eyes almost the same. D'Artagnan couldn't resist kissing Athos' lips, once, twice, lingering on the taste.

 

“I don't regret the distraction though.”

 

“Just a distraction?”

 

D'Artagnan sank his teeth into Athos' bottom lip. “Not for me.”

 

They kissed, the mood frequently swinging between languid and fervent. When their lips finally parted, d'Artagnan broke into a smile. He thumbed Athos' cheek, revealing glitter there.

 

“You’ve got something just there.”

 

Athos touched d'Artagnan's face and kissed his glittered thumb. There was a loud beep, D'Artagnan looked around and then reached down to fumble through his wayward jacket. His phone had quite a few new text messages. He grinned as he scrolled through them.

 

“Constance kept Aramis and Porthos occupied last night. Apparently she drank them under the table.”

 

Athos laughed, his hand still cupping d'Artagnan's face. D'Artagnan kissed his palm, warmed by Constance's congratulations and gleeful _I told you so_. She was allowed that and a whole lot more, he owed her.

 

He glanced at Athos, but there were still no questions in his expression. That heat was still there though. Well, Athos was a man who kept a lot of himself hidden. He probably understood.

 

Still d'Artagnan flicked a look towards the discarded dress and heels. Athos followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow, inviting questions instead of asking his own.

 

D'Artagnan twitched a shoulder into a shrug, he'd never put it into words before, not even for Constance, but he wanted to say something now, to Athos. Athos, who wasn't pushing and who still looked at d'Artagnan with heat in his eyes. D'Artagnan wanted more of that, fuck, he really did.

 

“It's just...another part of me,” he said at last.

 

Athos nodded once, slow and contemplative. He scraped his teeth along the pad of d'Artagnan's thumb. “We don't have to check out until noon. Put the heels on and you can go on top, if you'd like.”

 

D’Artagnan made a strangled noise, the relief and heat burning and overflowing through him. He dove on top of Athos to kiss him thoroughly, one hand reaching down to grasp Athos' hard cock, wrenching amazing sounds out of Athos until d’Artagnan pulled himself abruptly away to grab his heels.

 

It was as dark as it was going to get in the room. Athos didn't turn on the light.

 

He did offer d'Artagnan first use of the shower afterwards, an offer that d'Artagnan refused. He didn't say that it'd be better if he went in second once the reflected surfaces had been steamed over. Athos eyed him but didn't ask questions. He pressed a kiss to d'Artagnan's neck, to his palm, and finally to his mouth. D'Artagnan watched as a very naked Athos unselfconsciously left the en-suite door open. He listened as Athos used the shower, he texted Constance and told her that he didn't know when he'd be home but he'd keep in touch.

 

He waited, wrapped in a sheet, trying not to think about the journey between the bed and the shower that he was going to have to make.

 

Athos wouldn't ask questions, but still...

 

The shower shut off, but Athos didn't emerge. Confused, d'Artagnan got up, holding the sheet around him. Athos was facing where the towels were hung, giving no sign that he was aware of d'Artagnan's presence. D'Artagnan's gaze lingered on the scratch marks down Athos' back, the bruises that he'd left there.

 

Then darting a quick look up – Athos was still facing the towels – d'Artagnan dropped the sheet and rushed into the shower, feeling stupid, relieved and guilty all at once. He enjoyed the hot water and the pearly liquid soap. When he poked his head out of the stall door, he saw that the door was shut and that Athos had left him to it.

 

His heart flipped and filled with a quiet deep warmth, completely different to the heat that he'd felt around Athos for so many months now, but just as striking, maybe even more so. He breathed in the steamy air. Athos didn't know the details of d'Artagnan's truth, but he understood enough. He really had been watching d'Artagnan.

 

D'Artagnan hoped that he gave that kind of help back to Athos.

 

He grabbed a towel and bundled the sheet up onto the edge of the sink. The mirror was completely steamed over, but d'Artagnan could still make out the ghost of his own familiar shape. He could see the darker tones of bruises, Athos' silent but very obvious desires mapped out across d'Artagnan's skin.

 

D'Artagnan leaned in, unexpectedly transfixed by what he saw. He liked the soreness that he could feel all over his body. He liked that it was Athos who'd done that. He liked how Athos made his body look.

 

Slowly he reached back to push open the door. His eyes stayed fixed on the still-steamed over mirror and, with his heart trembling in his mouth and his body warm with aches, his fingers gently wiped away some of the steam.

 

He could see his face, some of the glitter was still smeared across it, his mascara had run so he wiped it away. He could see his neck and shoulders and the tiny start of his chest. His stomach clenched and his jaw tensed, but he traced a finger over a mark on his collarbone, his reflection shakily copying the action. He liked some of what he saw.

 

There was a warm heady presence behind him. Athos kissed his neck; d'Artagnan was riveted. Athos kissed his lips, one of his hands reaching blindly forward to twist on the sink's hot tap, to bring forth more steam. D'Artagnan's deep breath was shaky, his heart searing painfully, and he clung to Athos. Both of them kept half an eye on the mirror's piecemeal view.

 

They almost flooded the bathroom; they only just made their check out time. D'Artagnan wore his jacket over his dress and heels. He liked that people could see the marks on his neck. Athos interlinked their fingers and called for a taxi.

 

“I believe we owe Constance and Jacques a large lunch.”

D'Artagnan pulled Athos in for a kiss; Athos wasn't gentle with him, his fingers dug in deliciously. There was tenderness on his tongue though; it stoked the warmth inside of d'Artagnan. Mentally, he thanked Constance and Jacques a thousand times over. Once the kiss had slowed to a stop, he zipped his jacket up tight.

 

Athos' thumb stroked against his palm, it made d'Artagnan's heart shudder.

 

“Let's buy them a restaurant,” he declared, raking his hair out of his face as a taxi finally pulled up.

 

Thanks to d'Artagnan, Athos' cheek was still dusted with gold glitter, it trailed all the way to his mouth. It sparkled when he smiled.

 

_-the end_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not the Secretary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757467) by [breathtaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken)
  * [Only In The Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800940) by [sevenswells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenswells/pseuds/sevenswells)
  * [The New Normal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1807657) by [breathtaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken)




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